Classic Movie RumBelle
by callafallon
Summary: A series of ficlets placing RumBelle in classic films. Films are Notorious, The Thin Man, and Desk Set.
1. Notorious

_Based on the 1946 Alfred Hitchcock film Notorious. _

The house was small, a bungalow that had seen better days. The grass was overgrown and there were stains from broken eggs that hadn't been properly cleaned. The rent was months past due but the landlord hadn't taken any steps to evict the girl living inside. Maybe he felt sorry for her for the way that her life had been turned upside down by her father's conviction for treason. More likely she was paying him in something other than money.

She'd been a well known party girl even before the arrest. Belle French, nicknamed Lacey after her favorite type of clothing, had been linked to politicians and actors, to artists and rakes. But when her father was arrested for giving secrets to the Germans it catapulted her from famous to notorious. The media tried its damnedest to prove that he'd gotten his information from his daughter but she was clean. At least of that particular sin.

Gold limped to the door, his cane sinking into the untended ground. He didn't knock, not that anyone would have been able to hear him over the loud music coming from a record player in the corner and the men laughing in the back room. Gold took a second to try and determine how to shift off the racket and then just swung his cane to silence the machine.

"The fu-" the woman stumbled from the back of the home, a satin robe barely wrapped around her. "Oh, are you the man from the liquor store? Did you bring the ice?"

"I'm afraid not," Gold said, "I need to talk with you Miss French."

"So, talk." She pulled a cigarette from the robe and waited for him to light it. She didn't even attempt to hide her appraisal of him with red rimmed blue eyes.

"It's a private matter. Can you get rid of the company in the back?"

"They're invited. I think you're the one who should leave." Lacey poured herself a drink, a good amount of brandy in a highball tumbler.

"Well, I'm the one here from the government, so I think that I'll stay. At least if you want to try and help your father stay alive."

Lacey threw the glass against the ground. "My father? The man who has ruined my life? Why the hell should I care about him?"

"Maybe you shouldn't, but you do. You went to the trial every single day. You fainted when the verdict came in. Those aren't the actions of someone who doesn't care."

For a moment he thought she was going to slap him but instead she just crumpled to the ground. Glass cut her knees but she didn't seem to care or even notice. Gold was a small man but she was so slight that he could lift her easily. He couldn't get far with his bad leg, but he did get her to the couch. Gently he started to pull the glass from her knees, clucking his tongue.

"You're lucky that you don't need any stitches. As it is you'll probably end up with some scars."

"I already have them, now everyone will just be able to see them."

Gold chuckled. "That was surprisingly deep, Miss French. I'd read that you'd studied philosophy but I didn't realize that it stuck."

"You know so much about me, and I don't even know your name."

"Gold. Just call me Gold."

One of the guys out of the back stumbled out, looking for Lacey, but seeing her bloodied on the couch turned him pale. The destroyed record player and glass on the ground didn't help matters. He left, along with his friends, all without saying a word to the pair on the couch.

"What gentlemen," Gold snarled as he watched the boys leave.

"I don't really like gentlemen and they certainly don't like me." The girl was barely 25 but sounded as world weary as Gold did even though he had the Great War and decades of life on her. There was a momentary twinge of guilt for what he was about to do but only the moment. There were bigger things at play than Belle French.

"And Rum Sebastian, was he a gentleman?"

"Is that what this is about, my ex-fiance?"

"No, this is about a Nazi sympathizer and spy who is at the center of the creation of some new weapon. Just happens that same man is your fiance and still in love with you." He was also a dark figure, a dangerous man who was known in the espionage world as The Dark One, a wheeler dealer who always ended up on the best side of any interaction. None of the agents who they had tried to get to infiltrate his group had lived to bring back any information. But he had a soft spot for the broken girl in Gold's arms, and maybe that could be his weakness.


	2. The Thin Man

_Based on the 1934 movie The Thin Man (itself based on the Dashiell Hammett novel of the same name). I'm going with the film rather than the book since the movie is more light-hearted than the book. Former hard-boiled detective Nick Charles retired when he married rich young socialite Nora. But she playfully pushes him to investigate the case of a missing man for fun. Potential trigger for spousal abuse because Nick hits Belle to get her to safety. _

"Nicky, I think you should take the case." Belle was unpinning her hair, auburn curls tumbling down her back. He couldn't resist coming behind her to stroke her silky hair. Through the mirror he made eye contact.

"Sweetheart, you know I can't resist you."

She clapped. "You'll do it."

"Of course.

She spun around in the vanity seat and hugged Nick Gold around the waist. "Oh, this is going to be so much fun. And I'll be great at being a detective. I always figure out the Agatha Christie mysteries in the first three chapters."

Nick took her chin in his hand, gently raising her eyes to his. "Mystery. Oh, dearie, didn't mean I would take the case. The only case I'm interested in is that case of scotch that the accountant sent over as a Christmas gift."

"But you said…" she replayed the conversation in her head. "Oh, that's terrible. Nicky. You knew what I meant."

"I did. But I also told you, many times, that I'm done with that life. Detective days are over, Belle. Now I'm just a trophy husband, spending your fortune as a full time job."

Belle pouted, pursing her lips. "You consider being my husband a job?"

"I certainly do. And I'd love to get down to work." His brown eyes were playful as his long fingers began to play with the knot holding Belle's satin robe closed.

"Nick? Did you hear that noise from the other room?"

"Probably just Santa Claus," he muttered, his fingers gently exploring the swell of her breasts exposed by her low cut nightgown. Belle closed her eyes and let her head loll to the side. His hands disappeared suddenly.

"Mr. Gold," a gruffly voiced man said, "You need to fix this."

Nick was blocking her view, shielding her with his own body from the man with the gun in the doorway. "Sydney Glass. Nice to see you again. Do you mind if we do it without the weapon. My wife doesn't mind, but I'm a very timid man."

Glass. That was the name of the man who had been blackmailing Mary Margaret's father years ago when Leopold Blanchard hired Nick to investigate the threatening letters. Belle tried to get a glimpse of him, she'd never met a real life extortionist before, but Nick kept getting in her way.

"The cops think that I killed Blanchard. They're trying to pin it on me. But I'm innocent, Gold. I didn't do it."

"Sure you didn't," Gold said with an air of disinterest, "The handgun really says falsely accused."

"Maybe he isn't dead," Belle said, trying desperately to be a part of this. It was the most exciting thing that she'd ever seen. Like something from a Philo Vance movie. "Did the police find a body? Do they have any evidence?"

"There's money missing from his account. A lot of it. And so they think it's me…but I never did it. Really. I can't go back there Gold. I only sent those letters in the first place because he owed me money. I wouldn't kill the guy."

A siren blared through the night and Glass started shaking. "I'm not going back there Gold. I'm not. You two come with me. They won't hurt me if I have hostages."

Belle clapped her hands. "Oh yes. Let me change into something warmer. Will we be running? Should I wear heels or flats?" Glass fired a shot as she stood up, more warning than anything else, but it spurred Gold to action. He loved Belle, but she didn't have any instinct for survival. She'd no need to develop one while living in the gilded castle of wealth. Real life wasn't as nice as movies or books. Sometimes the good guys got killed, and he couldn't live with that possibility.

"Sweetheart," he said softly, "I'm really sorry about this." He punched her, enough to knock her to the ground but hopefully it wouldn't leave too bad a bruise. Better than a bullet hole at least. But it served the purpose. Got Belle out of the line of fire while Nick charged Glass for the gun. In the struggle another show went off, but he couldn't even feel it over the adrenaline.

The cops picked that moment to come charging in to save the day, well after it had already been saved. Graham Hunt told his men to take Glass to the station, and asked for an ambulance for Nick.

"It's just a graze. I'm fine." He leaned down, shaking Belle gently to consciousness. "You okay, sweetheart."

Her blue eyes scanned the room. "Did you get him Nick?"

"I sure did."

"Oh pooh," she pouted, "I wanted to see you do it."

Captain Hunt shook his head. "You sure you don't want me to call that ambulance. She sounds sort of out of it."

"No, she's fine. That's just how my Belle is."


	3. Desk Set

_Based on the film Desk Set with Spencer Tracy and Katherine Hepburn. Hepburn is the head to the research department of a television network. She's sort of like google. What she doesn't know off the top of her head she can look up in her massive library (like someone else we know). Spencer Tracy is a consultant who works with IBM and I hired by the network to bring in computers to make things more efficient, and replace the human workers. I've RumBelled it up. _

By noon Aurora, Mary Margaret, and Ruby had convinced Belle that Mr. Gold was not the overly polite man she'd met in her office that morning but was, in fact, the devil incarnate. They were all going to be replaced by computers. Aurora was fairly convinced (by some gossip clearly garbled through the grapevine) that Gold was actually going to turn them all into computers or robots.

Belle took the elevator to the roof where Gold had asked to hold their lunch meeting. She was racking her brain to figure out why he'd want to meet up there. Was it a test? She'd heard that he'd been giving all the department heads some weird test to measure…something. Nobody was talking about what he'd asked. They just all seemed to be in a state of shock afterwards, muttering about trick questions and typing up their resumes while they still had access to typewriters.

Gold was waiting for her on the rooftop. He was sitting at a small table that had been cleared of the snow that had fallen earlier in the day. The sun was out not but it was still freezing especially when the wind whipped up. Belle wished that she'd remembered her gloves as she shoved them in her pockets. But Gold didn't seem to notice the weather under his tailored black overcoat.

"Ms. French. Thank you for meeting me."

Belle tried to smile but the cold fought against her. "It's chilly up here."

"Is it?" he looked around as if just noticing the weather. "I suppose, but it depends on your opinion. This isn't that bad compared to Scottland."

"It's very cold compared to Australia."

"Yes. Or really, any warm climate." He wasn't taking her hint and so Belle sat down. Gold handed her a thermos. "Help yourself to some tea while I ask you a few questions. These may seem a bit unusual, but I can actually tell a lot about a person by how they answer them. But, don't worry about that. Just answer them honestly and as quickly as possible."

Sure. Don't worry about the fact that everything you say will determine the future of your career and your job and the jobs of everyone who work for you. No problem.

"Turkey or Tuna?"

Belle bit her bottom lip. "I…um…I guess it depends what the circumstance is. I mean…if it's an issue of which one I'd like to be then I'd have to say tuna because they get to swim around. See the world. Chickens never really get off the farm."

"What?"

Belle bristled. "Well, it's true."

"Yes. But what does that have to do with what type of sandwich you'd like."

The cold was no longer an issue and Belle's face turned warm with embarrassment. "Sorry. You said you were going to ask me questions and I assumed that was the first one."

Gold shook his head. "Assumptions. That's the problem with people. They make an assumption and it all spins out of control. Computers don't make assumptions. They only work on the information given to them."

"And that information is only as good as the person entering it. The computer can't use any common sense to determine if the answer makes sense. And Tuna."

He handed her the sandwich but made no move towards his own. Instead he pulled out a file and perused it. Most of it was standard biographical details: degree in library sciences, author of a non-fiction book about mythical demons in Asian literature. He'd filled in the gaps with some time eavesdropping on the secretaries as they took their smoke breaks. She was dating Killian Jones, VP of programming, although he seemed to have a favorite girl on every floor.

"I'm going to ask you the first question. But first I want to give you this warning. Assume nothing."

He looked up long enough to see her blue eyes roll at him. "Yes, I think I've learned that lesson fairly well."

Gold removed his pocket watch to time how long it would take her to answer. When the second hand rounded to the 12 he began. "The man was afraid to go home because the masked man was there. Who is the masked man?"

"Bill Dickey."

"Miss French, time is important but accuracy is more important. You can't just make up some name and expect it to be correct."

"But it is correct."

Gold was itching to write down something about insubordination to her file. Not that anyone would see it beyond him, and he was sure he wasn't going to forget Belle French anytime soon, but he just wanted to vent his annoyance with the girl across from him.

"Well, if you are so sure that it is correct then why don't you explain to me why the man in the question is so terrified of Bob Dickens."

"Bill Dickey," she corrected. "He was the best baseball catcher of the 1920s. Probably the best of all time, although it is impossible to say. You can compare stats but since the players have changed so much, and the style of play, it isn't actually important."

Gold held up his hand, pleading with her to stop. "How did you know that the masked man was a baseball catcher? Did someone tell you?"

"No. But it just made sense. The answer couldn't be some random thief waiting at home. That's the obvious answer and one that relies on the assumption that home refers to a house. The only other type of home is the one in baseball. And the masked man in baseball at home is the catcher. So…"

"Bill Dickey," Gold finished. He leaned back in his chair looking at the young woman for the first time. There was more to her than just a pretty face. He wanted to ditch his prepared questions to ask her about her life, what books she liked, or what ones she didn't. Anything to keep that lilting Australian accent going and letting him get a glimpse of the girl with beauty much more than skin deep.


End file.
